


who's playing who?

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: “Oh, you traveled here about the werewolf?” He was speaking with the innkeeper of the town, an older lady. “Sorry to say, but that’s been taken care of.” She turned away after that, like Geralt had all the information he could want. (He didn’t.)“By who?” he asked impatiently.She turned back to him. “One of your own, of course. A dashing fellow.” She smiled lightly. “Very sweet, and only asked for a room in return.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 852





	who's playing who?

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Geralt was not used to hearing about other Witchers, especially in the context of -

“Oh, you traveled here about the werewolf?” He was speaking with the innkeeper of the town, an older lady. “Sorry to say, but that’s been taken care of.” She turned away after that, like Geralt had all the information he could want. (He didn’t.)

“By who?” he asked impatiently.

She turned back to him. “One of your own, of course. A dashing fellow.” She smiled lightly. “Very sweet, and only asked for a room in return.”

Geralt hadn’t met another Witcher in _decades_ ; most of them had died out, from natural causes or murder. The Continent was not very welcoming of his kind, after all, and many were attacked and murdered for simply existing. “Is he still here?”

The innkeeper paused, “Well, yes, but he asked for no visitors.“

Geralt turned away. "Which room?” he asked without looking back.

He was already halfway down the hallway. The innkeeper sighed, “I really don’t think - “ But then she paused, abruptly, when he passed a door. He smiled, not entirely kindly. Bingo.

Geralt kicked the door open. The innkeeper shrieked. A man stumbled out of the bed quickly, only in a pair of trousers.

He was young - well, he _looked_ young - with bright eyes and messy brown hair. He stared at Geralt. “Um. Hello.”

“You’re not actually a Witcher,” he said, straight to the point.

He couldn’t be; he was a lanky thing with no scars, perfectly untouched skin. Not all Witchers had the same mutations, but it was still odd that the man had seemingly normal hair and eyes, too. Blue eyes that sparkled in the candlelight and dark brown hair that fell in his forehead in loose waves. He looked impossibly human.

“Oh,” he replied tersely. “ _Great_.”

Geralt frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “You probably didn’t even kill the werewolf,” he snarled. He had witnessed this kind of situation before: a fake, just trying to milk a community of their money. It was a bit odd he had only asked for a room, but whatever.

“I most certainly did,” he replied, studying his nails. “Not my fault you arrived late.”

Geralt growled, low in his throat, and stomped forward, footsteps heavy. “Prove it.”

“How?” he replied, looking up.

Geralt could’ve asked for the body, but he had a better idea - more amusing, frankly. He smiled, just the barest hint of teeth. The other man looked rightfully afraid, folding his arms protectively over his body. “Spar with me,” he said.

The man let out a sharp laugh, “What?”

“Come on,” he said, “Just think of it as a friendly spar.”

The man hummed thoughtfully, squinting. Finally, he reached down, pulling something out of his boot. A singular dagger. Geralt knew not all Witchers used swords, but a dagger was a bold choice, even for them. He strolled over, confidence in every step.

“I could prove my authenticity,” he breathed, “in so many ways, but honestly this just sounds fun.”

Geralt snorted and turned away. “Follow me.”

They walked to the edge of the town, stopping near the woods. Geralt assumed the innkeeper had opened her mouth because there was a small crown forming to watch. He didn’t mind, mostly because he knew this was going to be a quick, bloodless fight.

He didn’t want to _hurt_ the faker, just wanted to fuck with him a bit.

The man stopped a few feet away from him, spun his dagger. “So,” he drawled. “How do you want to - ”

Geralt rushed forward before he could finish, fast on his feet. He lunged forward, intending to stop before the tip of his sword made any contact. But then – the man ducked, even faster, and disappeared from sight. Geralt stopped, kicking up dirt.

He felt something sharp touching the back of his neck. Geralt let out a breath and turned, slowly.

The man was perfectly still, the tip of his dagger pressed - now - against the front of his throat. He smiled brightly. “Let me guess,” he said, eyes twinkling. “You’re not convinced yet, are you?”

Geralt was not. The man was fast, and good with a dagger. That didn’t mean anything.

He reached up and knocked the dagger out of his hand. The man gasped and jumped back, scrambling to grab it. He was too late; when he looked up, Geralt had his sword pressed down against his right shoulder.

He smiled again. “You’re good,” he said. “Really.”

Geralt glared down at him. “You’re scamming these poor folks out of their money.”

“Gods,” the man sighed dramatically. “You really don’t get it, do you?” The man spun on his knees, out from under the threat of Geralt’s sword. On his feet again, he pointed the dagger at Geralt. “I’m not a scammer or a fake. I’m the real deal, like you.” He waved his dagger in the air, back and forth. “You’re the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, right? Geralt of Rivia.”

He growled, “Don’t call me that.”

“Right, sorry,” he said, sounding mostly sincere. “But if you’d just hear me - ”

Geralt swung his sword. He jumped out of the way, frowning.

“Fine,” he snarled. “You want a fight.” He dug his heels in the dirt. “You’ll get it.”

Geralt lifted his sword, preparing for an attack. But then – the man disappeared from sight again. Fuck, he was fast. Geralt spun on his heels, expecting an attack from the back. But he miscalculated and the man kicked him, hard, in the back of his leg.

He fell to the ground with a grunt. He dropped his sword. It was kicked away.

Geralt felt the dagger back at his throat. He looked up. The man tilted his head. “Watch,” he said. Geralt did just that, not that he had many options. The man pulled something out of his pocket. Geralt immediately recognized it – a vial. The man opened it and tilted his head back, gulping the pure black liquid. When he was finished, he opened his eyes.

Black.

He tapped the end of his dagger against Geralt’s throat. “So?”

Geralt swallowed thickly. “Got it.”

Looking wildly pleased, the man - the Witcher - pulled his dagger away from Geralt’s throat. He turned to the crowd that had gathered and rolled his eyes - maybe; it was always hard to tell when they were black like that. “The show is over,” he said. No one moved. He gestured impatiently with his dagger, and finally they scrambled.

Geralt stood up and rubbed his neck.

“Here,” the man said. Geralt looked over and realized he had his sword, and was offering it.

He took it, feeling mortified all of a sudden.

“Now.” The man clapped his hands, his dagger nowhere to be seen, probably back in his boat. “Proper introductions are in order.” He extended his hand, and Geralt stared at it. Finally, he accepted the offer, shaking lightly. It was the least he could do. “I’m Jaskier.”

Then, with a bravery truly unmatched, he stepped closer and swung an arm around Geralt’s shoulders.

“I don’t know about you,” he said breezily, “but I don’t meet very many Witchers.” Geralt didn’t reply, just grunted, sheathing his sword. Jaskier was apparently not bothered by it. He turned them away from the clearing. “We shouldn’t waste this opportunity, don’t you think? We could grab a beer, or two, and chat.”

Geralt almost laughed, but then he looked at Jaskier, who was watching him closely. The laughter caught in his throat. He shrugged sharply, and Jaskier grinned, eyes crinkling.

“Don’t worry,” he assured him, leading them back through town, “I’ll pay.”

**Author's Note:**

> support me & my fics!  
> https://korrmin.tumblr.com/writing


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